Psychoanalysis
by Miku Siran
Summary: Allan runs back to Violet after ten years in a pathetic state. Out of kindness, she lets him stay with her and he recalls why he fell in love with her. But she's moved on and he realizes what he's lost and what she's become. A look into Coopet wedded life
1. Good Morning Baby

Psychoanalysis

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I awoke to fingers entangled in my messy bush of curls. A few shifts and creaking of the wooden king sized bed that I've gotten so used to sharing moves me to face the man that is now my husband. He's snoring a little bit and I can't help but almost laugh. He looks like a kid, then again he's around them so much he probably did imprint some qualities of twelve year olds he usually works with.

Bad thought. I really hope I didn't imprint off some of the people I work with. Cringe factor.

He starts to stir and I peer down at him with a grin.

"Good morning Bush." He says groggily. He is really not a morning person. But usually he's better than me so I really can't complain.

The bush rolls her eyes. Of course he has to tease me this early in the morning.

"Good morning sex addict."

He gives me his ouch face and I have to laugh. Yelling from down the hall. I lean my head back and groan and he laughs. By this time I'm straddling him and toying with his dark hair. He easily lifts me off and places me beside him as he gets up and pulls on a T-shirt. I check out his ass when he's not looking. I think he noticed anyway by the wink he gives me.

Something crashes.

Did I mention I am the mother of two twin boys and awaiting the birth of yet another child?

I am psycho.

"I take one you take the other." Cooper is telling me with a mock serious look on his face.

"Let's do it." High five. Ok attempted high five.

His eyes are twinkling as I do what I always do.

"TIMMY!! NICK!!!!"

The yelling and sounds of little feet come to an immediate stop.

Cooper takes the chance to bolt down the stairs and I follow a little bit more slowly. By the time I reach the kitchen, Cooper had one child slung over his shoulders with the other hanging on his legs.

My boys.

I give them the stern look, taking the scene before me. Nick with a baseball bat. Tim with the catcher's mitt and a ball. Empty space on the mantle between the trophies and pictures. Broken vase on the floor, lilies trodden on with water seeping into the cracks of the floor tiles. Sheepish faces, not only from the children.

Usually my philosophy is if you break it you pay for it, and clean it up. Not in this case. It's glass and my only anger about what my sons did was that one of them could've stepped in the broken glass and gotten seriously injured. Naturally I do my scolding. Five minutes later my husband and I had them at the table cheerfully eating Cheerios.

"Mommy are you coming to the game today?" Nick asks me as he builds a tower out of his soggy Cheerios.

Now all eyes are on me. Mommy is very busy. Mommy deals with many people that are used to things in a particular way. Changes equals problems. 'Monk' in real life.

"Please Mommy????" Whines my Tim.

"Yeah please Mommy?" Cooper chimes in and I could hit him.

I take a chomp from my apple enjoying the fresh taste along with the crisp morning. I can't resist them. "I'm gonna try okay? No promises."

High fives are exchanged. I hate saying yes to things I'm not sure about but they know something I know as well. No matter what comes up I'm gonna be there.

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Swift gears. Kids at school. Coop and I at work. Morning meeting. Naomi walks in looking more cheerful than I had seen her in a while. I know she and Sam are mending fences and judging by their faces, it's going well. For now anyway.

Addison trots in with Pete trotting at her heels. Pete is one of my patients though his file is mostly off record. Friend to friend instead of doctor to patient. Addison grins at me. I grin back. Newest addition to me and Naomi's girl club. Secret handshakes and all.

I look at my schedule that Dell has so sweetly typed up for me. Blonde hair and blue eyes, he looks like your ideal surfer boy with a body to match. He's got some quirks to him though. Midwifery skills included (My spell check says it's a real word).

I do a double take.

This is one time I really wish he hadn't typed my schedule out for me.

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"You are kidding." Cooper says pacing in a circle.

I plop down in an overstuffed couch that dominates his office besides his extremely messy desk. I note how adorable he looks with his hair messed up from him running his hands through it. I sink deeper into the chair and cover my lap with a pillow. I see the pattern. Ducks. I put it back.

"No I'm not. If I was, this wouldn't really get me my own show on Comedy Central."

"Why is he coming to you of all the shrinks in the LA area?"

"Because it's the chic thing now." Sarcasm.

"Or because he simply wants to spend time with you. Curly hair, crazy freak show and all."

Not amused.

"Cooper I have a real problem here!"

He snickers. "In more than one sense."

Okay Buster either off up some tips or feel the tip of my shoe in your unmentionable place.

"I'm gonna by professional. I'm gonna treat him like a normal patient."

"Which of your patients are normal?"

The shoe flies toward his head. Misses. Damn.

He holds up his hands in surrender and I relax. Warms across my shoulders. Feels good.

"Okay here is what we do."

"You and me? Or the me and the voices in my head that you're putting yourself in the place of."

"Both." He laughs. "Treat him and act like a professional, which you are so good at doing."

I can't tell if he's joking about the last part. Hope not. I may have to hurt him.

He kisses me on the forehead and I literally turn into mush. Favorite thing about Cooper. He runs his hands through my hair and leans in for a second kiss, this time lower. Ok second favorite thing.

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Awkward is a relative term. It came mean when no one has anything to say or if someone does something really stupid in front of you. Or when someone starts yelling the names of female body parts in a crowded waiting room. Mine falls into the there's- plenty- to- say -but –you- just- don't –want- to -say -it –so- you –sit- there -and –you-chew-on-your-pen category.

Okay enough. Be professional Violet. P-R-O-F-E-S-I-O-N-A-L. Two s's Vi.

"So would you like to tell me what you're feeling?"

Allan leans forward focusing his gaze on my face. I busy myself with my notepad.

"I've been feeling lonely lately. And Cammie is just really starting to make being happy difficult. She always needs me around and can't deal with me being gone for a while. And she has jealously issues. I just think I'm depressed."

I stop drawing daisies on my notepad for a moment. "Okay so let's start with your options, what do you think they are?"

"Leave Cammie."

I nod. "Continue." I'm doing well.

"Convince the woman that I left for her to take me back."

Scratch that.

"Well let's explore these options a bit further."

"Violet." He says it slow with an emphasis on the V. The way he always said it. "I'm not just another patient."

"None of my patients are just another patient." I reply, with a little bit of hesitation and hoping and he doesn't see it.

"I miss you. I miss your crazy ideas. Cammie's so safe, always following the line. I miss you and your loudness and you're curly hair."

"Cammie has curly hair." Lame.

"But she's not you."

"Yes a lot of women aren't me Allan, but you can still move on. Perhaps your marriage to Cammie is just going through a dry spell and all you need is a pick up on it."

"I doubt it."

"Who's the therapist?"

No reply. Doesn't mean I win.

"Anyway, let's start with the root of the problem. Your unhappiness with some of Cammie's antics."

He looks at me. The clock reads three ten. Oh. My. God.

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Author's Note:

I hope you're enjoying this so far. Review and tell me what you think and whether or not you want me to continue.

P.S. For all those who have been keeping up with my stories, I am very sorry for not updating like I'm supposed to. I've been having a very very busy schedule lately with the managing of my classes so I'm still trying to balance and will try to update as often as possible during the break I have currently for Thanksgiving. No promises. Really really really sorry.


	2. Shrinking Allan

Shrinking Allan

Thanks for the reviews.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or Private Practice. I simply have fun by making their lives either miserable or funny or both.

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Did he always talk this much when we were together? No I'm sure he didn't. Then again, maybe he did and I just wasn't listening. Regardless, I think I'm missing the problem. My patients usually have an underlying cause. The thirty year old that can't bring himself to leave his mother and still lives in her basement means I have to work through an array of childhood insecurities. Karl…let's not go there.

With Allan, I see no underlying problem. None what so ever. I am a well trained psychiatrist. I have diagnosed an impressive number of patients and worked with an array of psychological disorders and diseases. I think I can be considered an expert on whether or not someone needs a shrink. Allan needs one, just not in my category.

"I think I'm depressed."

Half an hour for him to come to this semi conclusion? Professional.

"Okay." I speak like a shrink. It's good. I fall into the easy groove. "Depression also has other symptoms besides the emotional feeling of loneliness and sadness. Are you tired at all or suffering from any aches and pains?"

"No except the ones that missing you at night gives me."

The groove's gone. I feel that some serious moments with a pillow and muffled screaming are going to take place in the near future.

"Allan, I think that it's important for you to access the situation you have with your wife. It doesn't seem like medically you're suffering from depression. I believe that you just want me to help you mend your marriage." I say it kindly. I am not a marriage counselor. I can't turn him away and still be called a professional, however. I can't say he has no problems. He's insisting he has an emotional/mental problem. That's a problem isn't it?

"Yes Violet, please try and mend my marriage to the best of your ability and maybe halfway through you'll miss me."

He says it in that way. That way. The way he used to talk to me. Playful on the edges with a touch of a whisper as if the words are reserved only for me. Part of me almost falls for it. Then again, I am the only one in the room so I guess the whole thing seems almost tacky.

He keeps talking. Cammie hates spiders. She won't let him watch football with the guys on Sunday. She wants kids. Yada Yada. While he talks I reaccess his features. Brown blonde hair. Sandy like the beach. Warm eyes that I remember drowning in. He has a touch of some serious class, with the way he dresses to the way he carries himself. Sharp. Gentlemanly. There was a time where that was enough to make me swoon.

Not so much anymore. My mind travels to the man down the hall probably telling some kid not to shove vegetables up his nose or trying to calm an over anxious mom about the cold that her child has. My lips twitch. How quickly your taste changes.

I refocus.

"Allan, I think that perhaps you need to do some homework so that I know more about your situation."

"Sure, anything."

"I want you to write down as many things about Cammie and your marriage that you like and enjoy. Don't try to limit the list but don't push it either. I want an honest representation of how your relationship is working."

"Okay, so same time next week?"

Dear God, no.

Smile. "Yes. I'll see you then."

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Cooper's waiting when I exit my office. Now torture chamber once every week for no one knows how long. He hands me coffee. Iced frappacino with extra whip cream on top. Red straw. He knows me well. Kiss on the cheek is sufficient as a thank you.

"How was it?"  
"Awkward. I think I just set a new world record."

"For awkwardness?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think there is one Vi."

"Well there should be after that appointment. I seriously would rather deal with two Karls than go through this one again."

"Seriously?"

"Well I'm not Addison. I won't be losing my shoes after an encounter."

He laughs and it's that loud laugh that I love so much. The one where his shoulders shake. We make our way into the kitchen. He's making a sandwich and I lean against the counter, small talk. Coupley talk. The kind that makes Sam gag when he walks in on it.

"Charlotte says it's our turn to participate in the Safe Surrender program."  
"Ah yes, Gladiator Pete and Addison are passing on the torch."

"What do gladiators have to do with anything?"

He has this perplexed look on his face as if he's confused, only instead looking seriously lost in thought he looks just a tad on the slow side. I smile at that thought. I find it adorable. Cue imaginary Sam's gag.

"Just girl talk. So when we do we get the phone?"

"Now." A voice propels through the doorway.

Red-headed Addison. The newest member to our dysfunctional family. She's got enough craziness to fit perfectly into our little group and it has become very cozy except for the occasional, almost daily, mishaps she gets herself in with our resident 'wacko' doc. There are still holes in her story, ones that I don't ask to be filled. With my job, you learn that most people open up to you in due time but not a minute before.

She hands the cell phone to me because Cooper's hands are smeared with peanut butter and jelly. Yes, this is how he fixes lunch for our kids.

As I tuck the phone in my pocket my other phone rings. I'm beeping and so is Cooper. We fumbled for the phones. I grab his before he can. Eewy goey peanut buttery mess is not as fun as it sounds.

"Hello?" Together again. I'm holding his phone up to his ear while holding mine up to my own.

Cue Addison's eye roll.

Couple of nods and mmm-hmm's. Hang up, look at my husband.

"Nick got sent to the principal's office for sticking the hose of a fire extinguisher into another child's pants and squirting the foam." I inform Cooper.

He bites his lip to fight back laughter. I give him a smack on the arm.

"What your call?"  
"Timmy hoisted his boxers onto the flagpole this morning."

My eyes widen and I almost smile. Civil disobedience always makes me laugh and my little eight year olds seem to feel the same way.

"Did he actually replace the flag with the boxers?" I ask curious in spite of myself.

"No he just hoisted his star spangled pair of boxers right beneath it."

I can't help myself. The mother laughs.

Cooper doesn't look upset either. "What happened to the victim?"

"Just got a really really cold feeling." I say. "At least this time there's no major clean up involved."

We laugh recalling the time that Nick covered his teacher car completely in post-it notes and had to spend the next two hours taking them off. How long it took him to get them on I have no idea. Where he came up with the idea leaves me even further in awe. We get the humor out of our systems because in a moment we would have to head to the school, collect our kids, apologize for them, and scold them, all the while suppressing our laughter.

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Cooper and I enter the principal's office twenty minutes later. Nick and Timmy are sitting side by side with a small smile on each of their faces. They run to me the minute they see me. My little eight year olds inherited my daring nature and Cooper's goofball alter-ego.

Twins, born only minutes apart, I sometimes question how similar yet different they can be. They are not identical. Not to me and Cooper anyway. Nick's half an inch taller. Timmy's eyes are Cooper's chocolate brown while Nick's are grey blue like mine. They're both talented in sports. Nick plays soccer and lacrosse while Timmy enjoys football and hockey. Nevertheless, both are naturally trouble makers, with a sense of humor that delights both their parents in even the most dire of situations.

I kneel down and tell them in my most serious tone. "You both are in big trouble."

Cooper is trying to make peace with the principal.

"I apologize greatly for my sons' behavior. They have their moments and I know, but you have to admit the pranks were pretty funny."

I clear my throat with a sideways glare.

"Your sons have been serious trouble since their enrollment in our private school. Perhaps this is not the place for them." Snippy principal reply.

I can be understanding. I do not, however, like it when annoying prime and proper women make snide comments about my sons. They're both at the top of their class, very smart, perhaps too smart, and thus find external stimulants outside of their schoolwork. The principal need not make such remarks.

"Perhaps this school just lacks the ability to see the mental intelligence they exhibited by conducting plans to pull these pranks off."

I see two grins erupting from Nick and Timmy's faces.

"Not that what you two did was right and yes you both are grounded for the next two weeks."

Smiles dissipated almost immediately.

The principal doesn't look impressed, perhaps still remembering the post-it incident. I have to spare Timmy on that one. That was solely Nick. I offer the principal a polite smile. Peace offering.

"Nick and Timmy will both volunteer to get the boxers off the flagpole and help clean up the classroom where the fire extinguisher foam created a mess. Furthermore, Nick will apologize to the kid he foamed and Timmy will never go near the flagpole again." I state, sending a pointed gaze at my kids.

Cooper's smiling. He loves it when I play mom. My sons have the puppy dog eyes. I have learned to be resistant. Cooper nods in agreement to my plan. The principal lets it go. I'm glad.

He takes both our kids by the hand and beckons at the door. He leaves practically pulled by the eager spawns of the devil that were more than ready to leave. I follow, their acts lightening my previously discontent mood.

I can't upset about Allan when I have three boys like that.

I shouldn't make statements that can be proven wrong.


End file.
